


I’ll Dance With The One That Brought Me

by thepointoftheneedle



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, College AU, F/M, Fake Dating, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Smut, The one where they are colleagues in the English department
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23634430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepointoftheneedle/pseuds/thepointoftheneedle
Summary: Betty and Jug are pals, colleagues, confidantes. It only stands to reason when Jug wants to avoid the attentions of  a girl who is pursuing him that he’ll ask Betty for help. It just puts her in an awkward situation because she’s been crushing on him for months.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 37
Kudos: 177
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	I’ll Dance With The One That Brought Me

**Author's Note:**

> The band I love more than life itself, the mighty Mountain Goats have a new album out (Songs for Pierre Chuvin). I have been listening obsessively to January 31 438. It’s so brilliant and it crept in here. If you’ve read anything else I’ve written you might find little Mountain Goat refs sprinkled about the place. Look out for them.

“Cooper I need you. Please. I’m begging.”

Betty had longed to hear those words from him for months. Admittedly she’d imagined them both being more naked, sweatier, breathless when she dreamed of him begging for her rather than fully dressed in the staff lounge. And for Jones, fully dressed seemed far too dressed. It was a warm Spring day with golden light slanting from tall windows through motes of dust but here he was, jeans, boots, t shirt, flannel, Sherpa jacket, hat. It made her feel tired to imagine taking all that off him. Not too tired to persevere with it obviously but it was a lot of unwrapping to get to the gift.

“God Jughead, why don’t you just take her out if she’s that desperate for you? You could stop being such a princess about it.” She knew she was being sort of a bitch but this was hitting a nerve in a pretty agonising way. “She’s a nice girl. You’re not such a catch that you can be too choosy you know.” She said it, knowing she was lying, knowing that if she had the slightest hope of catching him she’d never let go. He didn’t want her and it made her mad.

“I know.” He was so reasonable. It made it hard to fight with him. “She’s really nice but I can’t talk to her. Or actually I can’t listen to her. She’ll be talking and I realise I’ve just zoned her right out. It’s totally me. I’m the dick. But if I take her out and she talks at me about crystals or mercury in retrograde or something I’ll be gone and she doesn’t deserve that. And you know how I am about personal space. She’s always too close and she smells like that weird hippy perfume and it makes me gag and...”

“Oh my God Jug. Stop. You’re spiralling. Fine, I’ll do it but you’re so taking my 4.30 Friday “Modernism in the Novel” for the rest of the semester. And you’re not allowed to whine and bitch about it.” 

“Ok, how do we do it? Like shall I just rush up and kiss you in the corridor or... Oh I know, I’ll come round to your place early and we can arrive together in the morning. Like you climb off the back of my bike right outside the faculty office, and you can take off your helmet and we’ll kiss. That’s good isn’t it?”

“Well you could be characteristically extra about it or we could just mention it to her over coffee. Like I can say, “By the way Saffron, I am now the proud and grateful recipient of the Jones peen.” What about that?”

He was flushed pink now but he swallowed hard and nodded. “If you think that’s best Betts. Should I kiss you then?”

She had noticed him on the first day of the new academic year. He would be hard to miss. The rest of the faculty were either old or training hard to be old. He was strikingly good looking and totally indifferent to it. He stooped a little to hide his height, his hair was magnificent so he covered it with a decrepit old beanie. His eyes were mesmeric, deep blue pools, so he kept his gaze downcast and rarely made eye contact. He was slim and well proportioned so he dressed in layers of oversized fabric that hung from him. Betty noticed anyway all through the first semester. She noticed his beautiful, sensitive fingers, his slim wrists, the fine dark hair on tanned forearms when he rolled his sleeves. She noticed how his collar bones sloped when the stretched-out neck of his t shirt let her glimpse them. She noticed how warm and solid his chest felt when she leaned against him on the day the steps and walkways froze over, she noticed him all the time. She tried to flirt a little early on. She’d ask him what his weekend plans were and he’d tell her that he was going to see his sister or that a pal from home was visiting or that he had to finish a short story draft for some literary magazine. He’d politely ask about her weekend but even if she said she had nothing much going on he wouldn’t take the hint and ask her to go for dinner or out to a bar. And then their moment passed. Suddenly they were work buddies who grabbed coffee together and teased each other about recalcitrant students or a poor turn in rate for freshman assignments. Obviously he wasn’t interested in her like that so she decided to take what was on offer and be grateful. She told him she was pleased to have a platonic friend even though she still thought about him and only him when she touched herself alone in her bed at night. 

That first week of classes they had sat together on the lawn outside the faculty building like undergraduates, discussing their ambitions and dreams. She wanted a career teaching, researching, publishing in academic journals. He wanted to find work he could combine with writing fiction. He was already making a decent income from it but it was unreliable and he had a very working class need for paycheck security. He was writing his thesis on the uncanny in Poe and Lovecraft, she was writing on twentieth century feminist narratives, exploring the extent to which the writers were blind to issues of intersectionality. 

As their friendship developed they proof read each other’s chapters in a challenging and combative way that she enjoyed. He would call her on her idolisation of Toni Morrison and try to force her to a more critical reading. She would flat out refuse to find any merit whatever in Lovecraft. At the faculty Thanksgiving party they’d sequestered themselves on the staircase after she’d snagged a bottle of Valpolicella and he’d swiped a whole tray of pigs in blankets. “Jug, you have to let Lovecraft go. He was a racist antisemite who liked Hitler. The women are just there to bring men into the narrative. And the homophobia, Jesus. It’s time to abandon him.”

He wouldn’t have it. “What you aren’t seeing is how prevalent he is in the culture Betts. I mean for good or ill his vision is like the swamp our mythologies are built on. It seeps into video games, rock music, it’s in Ridley Scott movies, Stephen King novels. It’s everywhere. You have to understand where it comes from if you’re going to challenge it.”

“That’s all very well but you kind of love him don’t you? This isn’t a crusade.” 

“Well of course I do. He was a nerdy straight white guy writing for other nerdy straight white guys. He takes the things we’re scared of and makes them universal. We’re scared of impotence so he suggests that black guys are way more masculine than us and that they’ll take “our” women, we’re scared of penetration and emasculation so he makes us fear gay people, we’re scared that we’re dumb and gullible so he co-opts the stereotype of the shrewd Jew who’s going to make us look foolish. All these things that straight white jerks are scared of, he makes the universal myths of a culture, hidden in the fiction but discernible when you know what to look for. But they aren’t true, they aren’t sustainable. We need to be scared about poverty and inequality and the climate emergency and sexual predators not the bullshit we’re fed by a diseased vision out of Lovecraft’s imagination.”

She was interested in his ideas, enjoyed his passion and enthusiasm but, to her shame, this kind of talk also made her hot and giddy with sexual excitement. It was a kind of intellectual aphrodisiac. After that Thanksgiving party she’d been crying too hard to manage an orgasm even when she imagined his long fingers inside her. By Christmas she realised she hadn’t even been on a date for three months, let alone been touched by anyone. Now she was going to have to pretend that she was sleeping with him instead of getting to actually sleep with him. It was agony. 

The next day she’d finished teaching a class of indifferent freshmen the Origin of the Novel course that she’d looked forward to until she met them. There were a group of unreconstructed jocks in the class who liked to mutter that Clarissa had been “asking for it” or that Moll Flanders was a “ho”. She hesitated to even assign Tristram Shandy. It would be pearls before swine. Academia had always been her dream, so when she got the chance to teach while working on her doctorate she thought all her wishes had come true, but now she found that her thesis was a slog, her students were those that tenured professors wouldn’t deign to teach and her supervisor was barely ever in the country let alone where Betty needed her to be to give guidance and encouragement. The bright spot in most of her days was her friendship with Jug. She looked forward to drinking bad coffee with him, to looking up from her favourite library table to see him bringing her a candy bar to keep her energy up, to laughing with him about mistakes in their students’ essays until they cried, “Escape goats Jug! “Women in Gilead are treated as escape goats.”” Perhaps that was why, despite her avowed feminist principles, she’d never simply made a move. If he said no or if they went on a couple of dates that went nowhere, this oasis in her life would be destroyed. It was too great a risk. And, she had to admit, her mother’s insistence on what “nice girls” did and didn’t do had found some fertile soil deep in her psyche. She found it hard to imagine how guys could put themselves out there again and again, just shaking off rejection like it wasn’t a biggie. Or some guys anyway. Apparently not the one she fantasised over most nights.

She’d just poured out two coffees from the ancient machine in the staff lounge, adding creamer and sugar to hers and leaving his the colour and consistency of tar when he exploded into the dusty, silent room, throwing his messenger bag on the floor and himself onto one of the couches, sending up a small snowstorm of what Betty could only suppose was the dandruff of long dead professors. “Fuck freshmen,” he muttered angrily.

“No, don’t Jug. They fire you for it now. It’s not the eighties anymore.” She handed him the coffee and he smiled despite himself. 

“Thanks Betts, you’re the best.”

“What did they do to you?” she enquired, wondering how the undergraduate hive mind devised his particular torture. 

“Do you know how many of them had read “Indian Camp?” Out of twenty five of them, how many?”

“Ten?” She ventured, optimistically.

“Two. It’s a fucking short story. And they’re paying thousands of dollars for this, to not read things. What the fuck do they think they’re doing?” Aha they were hitting him in his blue collar work ethic. They got her with gender and him with class. Well played, hive mind.

It was at this point that Saffron drifted into the lounge like thistledown on a summer breeze, her floating drapery and the scent of patchouli surrounding her like a Woodstock halo. She genuinely was a sweet girl even if her specialism was mystical experience in early Renaissance poetry which Betty suspected was not really a thing. “Hey guys, woah there’s a lot of negative energy here right now. That’s not healthy you know. Jughead, if you lie down for a sec I can realign your chakras. You’ll feel so much better. You did, didn’t you Betty?”

Betty smiled vindictively at Jug. “Yes, you should Jug, it’s really restorative.”

“Well actually Saffron I’m just going to drag my girlfriend here back to my place for some restorative “afternoon delight” if you get my drift. So thanks but Betty's got this, don’t you Betts?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively at Betty and, although there was a slight temptation to leave him hanging, she couldn’t help responding with a far too genuine, soft smile.

“Yes, honey. Betty’s gonna make it all better.” she cooed. He swallowed hard, that sharp Adam’s apple bobbing uncomfortably. Now he’d committed them to it they had to finish their coffee and take their leave. Betty looked back at Saffron, sitting alone on the couch, flicking through her copy of “Be Here Now” and smiling to herself. She’d taken it really well. Maybe she wasn’t as hung up on Jug as they’d both imagined.

“Diner?” Jug suggested as they exited the building and stepped out into the stone and grass of the campus.

“Sure, since the promised ‘afternoon delight’ isn’t on offer…Joking!” she smiled to show she was teasing. “Not joking,” she thought.

“Ah Betts, if only you meant that.” He put a hand over his heart and pretended to swoon like a courtly lover.

Over onion rings and chilli fries they analysed the shortcomings of the academic world. Jug asserted that it was the commodification of learning that was at fault. Betty thought that the status of sports was outrageous. If she tried to flunk the jocks for their misogyny she would be leaned on by coaching staff that needed their hunks of meat on the field. “But Betts, that’s because sports generate money. Feminist lit crit not so much, honey.” He bopped his index finger on her nose and her heart lurched. If only she could lean across the table and kiss him, or slip off one of her chucks and put her bare toes on his crotch, stroking him to uncomfortable hardness while giving away no sign to the other restaurant patrons of her nefarious antics. It was getting frustrating just being around him.

A week later Jug tracked her down at her customary third floor library table, surrounded by open books and cards on which she had incompletely recorded footnotes. “Saffron just asked me to go to a gig with her. We need to step up the game Coop.”

Betty felt irritated with Saffron. She seemed so sweet but here she was, trying to pick up Betty’s fake boyfriend. It was outrageous. She searched for her pen for a moment until he pulled it from where she had used it to secure a messy bun in her hair and handed it to her. “OK, what about we go to staff drinks on Friday together? Saffron usually goes to that. We’ll PDA the hell out of it. That ought to do the job.” He nodded and smiled, offering a salute to show that he was on board with the plan and left her to her footnote hell.

Friday drinks was a faculty tradition which Betty and Jug normally ducked out of. He wasn’t into booze or departmental schmoozing and she was mainly just into him. They sometimes went to a movie instead or grabbed some food at the diner together. Sometimes he just waved in the corridor and was gone and she was left with a sad, lonely feeling in her chest that lasted til coffee on Monday. She didn’t just sit alone in her apartment. She certainly wasn’t that girl. Sometimes her friend Kevin came to visit from NYC, sometimes she went to stay in Washington with her half brother Charles. She’d made a couple of girlfriends at the gym and she went for drinks or brunch with them. But she wanted to open her eyes on a Saturday morning to find her head resting on that warm solid chest, feel his long fingers combing through her hair, hear his low voice rumbling from her kitchen as he cooked eggs, find him showering in her bathroom and asking her to join him in the steam and heat. She wanted him. Her life had a big Jones shaped hole in it and she was tired of edging around it. This Friday as she struggled to choose a cute “day to night” outfit that wasn’t obviously trying too hard she wondered if she could work the fake date to her advantage. Could she kiss him so passionately that he realised that he had to have her? He’d whisper “Wanna get out of here?” and they’d get on his bike and ride away to make frantic love all weekend. Maybe that could work. A girl could dream anyway.

They got to the bar at six thirty, having stopped for burgers at the diner after he’d finished teaching her seminar. He was a little shell shocked that any of the students turned up to such an egregiously scheduled class. Still he taught them “As I Lay Dying” like a pro while Betty skulked in the back lusting after him. She wondered how he’d cope with “Mrs Dalloway.” Unusually when they arrived at the bar he ordered a beer when she got herself a large white wine. She raised an eyebrow enquiringly at the glass. “I’m feeling nervous,” he explained.

“Why? I don’t get why Saffron is giving you the heebie-jeebies. She’s pretty and friendly and she wants you. A lot of guys would take the opportunity to sleep with her and just see what develops.”

“It’s not my way, Betts. I’ve got this pal, Archie, and back when he was single, he’d go to bars and pick up girls. He’s stupidly ripped and so he’d never struggle to get a woman to go home with him. He’d have sex, enjoy it and that’d be it. And I just never got it. Was it just about the physical sensation? Because if that’s what it is, well, not to be crude but I can get myself off with speed and efficiency. I don’t have to cook a stranger breakfast or wash my sheets afterwards and it takes like ten minutes out of my busy schedule. So what does he need the girl for? If it’s intimacy, human connection, you can’t get that in a twenty minute conversation in a noisy bar when you’re both pretending to be cooler and more well adjusted than you are. I don’t get what sex is for unless it’s to express a really profound connection that you feel with someone that you can be completely vulnerable, totally yourself with. It says, this is the most private part of me, my body and my mind. Please don’t hurt me. I’m going to trust you.”

Betty’s body and mind were in uproar. To talk to him about sex so openly and without their usual teasing was too exciting. Her body was responding to the images he was creating in her head without her permission but she gulped so she could take her part in the conversation. “OK Jug. Lots of points to interrogate in that. Why haven’t I met Archie?”

“At first it was because he’s pretty much irresistible to women and I’m selfishly keeping you to myself. And he’s met the girl of his dreams now so it’s moot. I wouldn’t want to tantalise you by showing you what you can’t have.” He smiled a little ruefully and she laughed at the irony of the whole situation.

“He so doesn’t sound like my type. Anyway, you said Archie could pick up girls because he’s attractive. You know that you’re attractive, right? Like you haven’t got some sort of dysmorphia going on have you? I’d say that, outside of movies and stuff you’re top three of the most attractive guys I’ve ever seen. That’s not news to you is it?”

Jug stared at her in incomprehension. “You think I’m nice looking? Really?”

She braced herself. “I, and pretty much every straight girl whose opinion I have sought, know you to be absolutely fucking gorgeous Jug. Some of the sisters have issues with your clothes and a few of them say it’s a shame you’re so broody and serious but everyone knows you’re crazy attractive.”

“Are you messing with me Betts? You, personally, think that?”

“Yes. Of course.”

At that point one of the junior professors came over and joined them. A few people were swaying around awkwardly on the tiny dance floor and he looked hopefully at her. “Would you like to dance Betty?”

“Oh thanks Marcus but I’m an old fashioned girl. I’ll only dance with the one that brought me, hey Jug?”

“Yeah, she’s so old fashioned Marcus. It’s all, “Jug can you open this jar?” and “Jug can you get the spider out of the bath?” and “Jug can you fight a duel to defend my impugned honour?” But then, the ladies...can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Amirite?”

Betty was stifling her giggles and Marcus looked a little uncomfortable because he didn’t really get the joke. He excused himself and headed off in the direction of less confusing women. “You’re bad Jug.”

“You were the one pretending to be Grace Kelly. I just played along. He’s a dick anyway. You don’t want to dance with him. Especially not when you were busy telling me how hot I am.”

“No Jug. I really don’t want to dance with Marcus. And I think I’ve done enough in the service of your fragile self esteem for one night. Oh, look, here’s Saffron. We need to do the PDA.” 

He put his large hand on hers in an awkward way so she grabbed it and pulled it round her shoulder, holding his fingers in hers. She placed her other hand on his taut stomach as Saffron sat down opposite them. “Hey guys, we don’t usually see you here. It’s good to have some time to relax with colleagues isn’t it?” She began to ask Jug about his latest short stories and Betty found herself needing to mess with him a little. His t shirt was untucked invitingly so she put her hand exactly where she had been resting it before but under the fabric instead of over it. The move backfired on her a little because now she could feel a trail of hair under her fingers which made her feel giggly and stupid. His belly was so hot. As her hand landed she saw his eyes flicker closed for a second but he pulled himself together enough to tell Saffron that he was expecting another of his pieces to appear in print at the end of the month. Betty moved her pinky finger so that just her nail was resting against the waistband of his jeans and he made a remarkable noise. It was almost a growl and almost a whine and he disguised it by pretending to yawn, stretching out his arms. When his hand landed back on her shoulder he slipped his fingertips under the neckline of her shirt and then under her bra strap where it rested on her shoulder. Betty felt her face and neck heat suddenly with a blush that wasn’t embarrassment but desire. Saffron looked at her for a second and then excused herself saying that she had promised to read the head of faculty’s aura. As she stood Jughead turned to Betty and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. In a recess of her mind some primal id Betty screamed “This is it. Take what you want now because this will never happen again.” So she did. She pressed her lips against his more firmly, opening her mouth. Her tongue slipped between his lips, meeting his and pressing against it until he seemed to wake from a daze and push back against her. One of his hands was in her hair, messing her ponytail, the other, intriguingly, was at her throat. She moaned into his mouth and he shifted himself so he was bearing down on her, drawing himself up to his full height so her head was leaning back and he was stroking her throat. Eventually they ran out of breath and parted, gazing into each other’s eyes in shock. When they looked round they realised they had put on quite the floor show for their colleagues who abruptly stopped staring at them and resumed their conversations. Betty was so turned on that she didn’t know what to do to alleviate the pressure in her belly and her breasts. She stood abruptly as he kept his still startled eyes on her. “Um, bathroom, back in a sec. Get me a shot will you?”

As Betty stood in the ladies room, clutching the edge of the sink and staring into the mirror, trying to calm her heart rate, Saffron came in.

“Hey Betty. I’m so glad you two worked it out at last. Good for you”. Betty stared at her nonplussed. “Oh, see early in the year I asked Jughead out a couple of times. He was so nice. He just said he was totally hung up on you and so he just didn’t have the emotional capacity to go out with anyone else even though he knew you just wanted to be pals. So I’m glad that you decided to be more than friends. You seem really good together.”

“Oh,” said Betty in confusion. “I thought you still liked Jug.” 

Saffron laughed. “No, I actually met someone a few weeks ago, still early days but I’m really happy. He teaches at the yoga centre I go to. Flexible.”

Now Betty felt really confused. Why had Jug wanted to fake date her? He could have just asked her out if he liked her. And why had he told Saffron that she just wanted to be friends? Had their kiss been for show or was it real? She had no clue what would happen next which was thrilling and terrifying but she needed that shot so she headed back out.

He sat, staring at the table with two empty shot glasses in front of him and two full ones beside him. She had some catching up to do. “Right Jones.” she said taking her seat. “Your secret is out. You need to start talking.” He looked up, startled. “Saffron has a bendy boyfriend that she met at yoga so we aren’t fake dating for her benefit. What gives?”

He put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. “I’ve made a mess of this whole thing Cooper. I don’t want to lose your friendship but I lied. I might be a total creep. Will you forgive me if I am?”

“Just explain yourself. What’s going on?” She pulled on his arm so that he turned his head to look at her through those recalcitrant hanks of wavy hair. “Come on Jug. We’re friends. You can tell me anything.”

He took a deep breath in. “So, I really like you as a friend but I also have these feelings for you that I shouldn’t have about a friend. I think about you all the time. I think about your body,” Betty very much wanted to know more about this part of the explanation but she let him carry on, with a plan to circle back round to this later. “When we started to work together I wanted to ask you out but I wanted to get to know you properly. Then you kept saying how it was nice to have a platonic male friend and so I thought you were saying that you didn’t want anything else. So I didn’t ask you. But I can’t stop wanting you. Sometimes you’re telling me something that matters about your thesis or whatever and all I can focus on is your mouth or your hair, like picturing your hair wrapped round my wrist, or how the skin on your throat is so pale it’s almost blue and so beautiful. I’m a creep. So I thought that if I could fake date you I might be able to get you to see me as more than just a platonic friend. You might start to see me as a man as well. So I pretended that Saffron was hitting on me so I could get you to act like I was your boyfriend but all it’s done is ensure that I want you even more so that I can’t think about anything else. I’m so fucked. And I lied to you so you probably don’t want to be friends either now.”

She smiled at him and put her hand along his jawline. “Hey, calm down. I want what you want Jug. I want to be more than friends too but I couldn’t work out how to get from where we were to where I want to be. I think about you too. I was unbelievably turned on by what you said before about intimacy. It was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard. Now, you’ve drunk a beer and two shots. Are you too impaired to give consent or what?” He was staring at her, trying to see if what she was saying could possibly be true. Apparently he decided in the affirmative because he jumped to his feet, grabbing his jacket in one hand and her wrist in the other, “Not impaired, not at all.” 

He more or less ran to the door, dragging Betty behind him while a group of seniors from his Gothic Imagination in American Poetry class whooped behind them. “Jones is going to see about a girl!” yelled one of them. “No, Jones is going to see to a girl!” shouted another. Betty found she didn’t even care. 

Betty had often thought that there should be a sociological study of the breeding habits of academics. Amongst people who thought for a living the negotiation of consent, while vital, could lead to such fine discussions before the act that by the time the key points were resolved it had become hypothetical and the parties just decided to have a cup of cocoa and retire to their respective beds. She was confident that no matter how pedantic Jughead was going to get discussing what could go where under what circumstances she would still be willing and eager but she was prepared for a degree of debate. As a matter of fact he had an elegant solution to the whole issue. Once they were back in her apartment with the doors locked, the bedroom drapes closed and the need for and availability of condoms established, he looked her in the eye and said “I’m game for anything you want to do to me Cooper. If you can imagine it I’ve already been there in my mind at some point in the last eight months, and you know I have a vivid imagination. But if you want me to do something to you or for you, you have to say it, using your words. I don’t take hints or meaningful glances. You want it, you say it. OK? Agreed?”She nodded breathlessly. “Use your words Betts.” he insisted. 

“I understand. Get naked Jones.” He grinned at her mischievously and began to slowly unbutton the flannel. At this rate it was going to take all night so she decided to speed things up by throwing off her own clothes. She was down to her underwear before she saw him staring at her with such intensity that she paused. “Do you want to get in on this Jug?” He nodded. “Hey, what happened to use your words?” she teased, “And why aren’t you naked yet?”

He was down to his underwear in no time flat and looked at her again when she waved a finger in the direction of the last remaining garment. The boxers were instantly gone in the direction of the rest of his clothes and she exhaled a long breath as she looked at him. He was as beautiful as she had imagined, all long slim limbs and smooth olive skin. “Undress me Jug,” she whispered and he stepped towards her.

“Anything else?”he asked as he reached out to her.

“Kiss me, touch me everywhere,” she said and now he sighed. 

“You’re so beautiful Betts. I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmured, slipping her bra strap off her shoulder and kissing where it had lain. Then he kissed her collarbones and her neck, one hand back on her throat where he had touched her at the bar. He kissed the tops of her breasts along the lace of her bra and then reached behind her and unhooked it with one hand. 

“You’ve got game Jones. I never would have thought it,” she was smiling but she was a little surprised too.

“Don’t you worry Betts. You’re in good hands.” He didn’t exaggerate. His hands were remarkable. He led her to the bed and laid her down, sliding off the last of her clothes. Then he stroked and kissed her shoulders and her neck and her breasts and her stomach. She was whining with desire now, hands grasping for him, hips reaching towards him in search of something more. She remembered his rules and murmured “Juggy, touch me between my legs, make me come.”

His hands were on her before she’d finished the thought. At first there were long, smooth strokes which made her a little embarrassed as she realised how ready she was for him. Then he focused all his attention on touching her where the sensation was most vivid, circling then rubbing and then pressing and releasing, seeing what worked best. He didn’t hurry. She didn’t feel like she had to rush to a climax so they could get onto the main act. Time just seemed irrelevant as if being touched by him happened in a place outside everything. “I want your fingers inside me Jug. Please.” she moaned and he kissed her breast as he moved his fingers in her. He used his other hand to stroke her neck, running his fingers across her throat so softly. The tension built up in her belly until she realised that she was crying out with every thrust of his long fingers. “More Jug. Please. So close.” He bit gently at one of her nipples and pressed hard with his thumb on her and she cried out as a wave of pleasure crashed over her. He released everything and she almost cursed at the loss but instantly he resumed the same movement and the pleasure crashed back. Again and again he repeated the release, holding her at the edge of her climax, until it was all too intense and she began to weep. Then with a last thrust he pushed her from the precipice he’d been holding her over and she fell and fell and fell. Her pulsing orgasm seemed to last forever but eventually she opened her eyes to see his beautiful face looking down at hers. 

“Nice?” he asked, like he hadn’t just given her the most earth shattering, transcendent experience of her life. 

“Jug, I can’t...it was the most amazing..are you a wizard?” He laughed happily at that, delighted to have pleased her and she thought he was the most wonderful thing in the world. “I want to take your cock in my mouth. Is that OK?” He inhaled sharply and she knew she’d hit on something he had been thinking about. He nodded, not trusting his voice and she struggled to shaking knees and pushed him back by one shoulder onto the mattress. Kissing his belly, his hips, his thighs was a kind of worship and she tried to show him her adoration with every touch. Then she took him in her hand and threw one of her knees across his thighs, straddling him as he gasped. He was so hard that she imagined that it must be uncomfortable so she stroked him gently, devoutly. Then she used her tongue on him as he moaned. She looked up at him as she took him deep in her mouth and he began to curse, rearing up and watching her. She wanted it to be raw and dirty, wanted him to remember this when he stroked himself forever. She alternated licks and stokes with her hand with taking him as deep as she dared, all the time looking up at him. He thrashed a little and she suddenly knew what he wanted but wouldn’t do without permission. “Wrap my hair round your wrist Jug, hold my head.” She hissed quickly pulling off him. 

“Oh fuck. Oh Betts you’re just my absolute fucking fantasy.” He muttered as he did what she said, exhaling hard and then gasping. He didn’t try to make her gag, he was careful to feel her rhythm but she could tell he liked the illusion of control that it gave him. She was learning that he was much more of the alpha male than he appeared in everyday life. It was exciting to know him like this, like other people never would. It took only a few moments more before he let go of her hair, “Betts, I’m coming, Betts you don’t need to...fuck Betts, oh fuck.” She was grateful for the warning but she wasn’t going to leave her boyfriend half sucked off so she finished the job properly, looking up at him cheekily as she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. He looked so soft and wrecked that she scooted up the bed to hold his gorgeous head to her breast and stroke his hair, murmuring softly into the dark waves and kissing his head. He curled up into her with a sigh. Soon though she found he had taken her breast into his mouth and he was licking and sucking. He used his hand to squeeze and massage one breast while he used his mouth on the other. She closed her eyes, stroking her hands through his hair losing herself in the sensation. Gradually she became aware of the throbbing between her legs, urgent and undeniable. She needed more but he’d just come so...but when she looked down his body she realised he was half hard again.

“Wow,” she murmured into his hair. “Insatiable much?”

“Only for you Betty Cooper,” he smiled back at her.

“I want you inside me. I want you so much Jug.” She reached down to stroke him and he hissed through his teeth and became even harder, growing in her hand. She opened the bedside drawer and found the previously debated condoms and rolled one onto him like the ace high school student she had been, paying attention in health class. Then she swung her leg back over him and kissed his neck as she positioned him and sank onto him. They both sighed at the sensation. It was thrilling but it felt right too, like the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle fitting into place. She moved against him slowly, deep, smooth movements that began to make her feel lightheaded. 

“What do you need Betty? Tell me.” He murmured, his voice low with emotion.

She knew what would drive him crazy and she knew that his excitement would heighten hers so she dared. She was already so close. She rolled onto her back, opening her knees for him and putting her hands over her head, “Take me Jug. Hold my wrists and take what you need.” Instantly his weight was on her, one hand around both her wrists and the other pushing against one knee to keep her thighs wide. 

“Betts, you’re everything. You’re fucking everything.” He didn’t pound into her, he was more skilful and subtle. He maintained the pace and depth that she’d shown him she liked as he thrust but then, with a hiss and a moan he began to lose control. He moved his hand from her knee to stroke her as he had before, gazing intently into her eyes, a little more pressure on her wrists. He began to make a moaning sound and she knew he was holding off his climax to wait for her and then his mouth was on her throat and he was biting softly and sucking. There would be a mark. It was the thought of the mark and his hand on her wrists more than anything else that got her there. She moaned deep and low as she came and he felt her and he let go with a shudder, collapsing into his own release.

They lay in the dark for a long time, talking quietly, laughing at how long it had taken to get here. “The problem was love Betts. I loved you as a friend and I couldn’t face losing that until it just became clear that if I didn’t try to make it more I’d lose the friendship anyway. It hurt everyday not to be with you. And it was making me a bad friend because I didn’t want you to go on dates or find something with some other guy.”

“No other guys Jug. Not since the day I first saw you. I feel like I’ve arrived. Like you’re where I was always headed. Is that too much?”

“Not too much. Just always dance with the one that brought you and let that always be me. Deal?”

“Deal.”


End file.
